The Epic Sequel to 'The Epic Self Insert'
by Made Nightwing
Summary: Many years ago, I rejected the Prothean's offer to become a Self-Insert. Now, with my companions at the Parallel Intervention Taskforce, I struggle to protect the ME timeline from outside interference. Dedicated to all those who've had enough of SI fics.


The Epic Sequel to 'The Epic Self Insert'

I don't own BioWare

(A/N: Dedicated to the (mostly) talented writers who write the Self Insert fics that were once fun to read, but have now become repetitive and irritating. Any references I make to other Self-Insert's are made in jest, and not with malicious intent.)

**CITADEL**

**2183**

"This is SO cool," Larsh Peters bubbled as he stared at the world of lights around him. "Imagine, just five minute sago we were just regular teens on the way to school, and now we're on the path to becoming heroes!"

"I know, right?" Willow Wilson gushed as she joined him. "And we even have superpowers now. Watch!"

Extending her right arm, she blasted a nearby wandering dockworker by the name of Conrad Verner. He turned toward them with a dopey smile, then loped off in search of that man he had seen on the news this morning. Commander Leopard.

"I traded in half my IQ for this superpower," Willow giggled. "Now I can make other people stupid as well."

"That's nothing," Larsh sneered. "I traded in all my humility for the ability to be AWESOME! Watch!"

Rushing across to a group of turian soldiers, he beat them all within an inch of their lives, leaving their platoon commander with the lasting impression that humans were all racist, which he proceeded to tell anyone who would listen, for the rest of his life.

"What about Zach?" Willow turned to their silent friend with concern momentarily appearing in her eyes. "He hasn't said much."

"Apparently, he lost his voice, but he should get some awesome tech skills," Larsh slapped his friend on the back. "Come on, we should go save Tali's life, that way Shepard is bound to want us on his crew. Or maybe we'll be in time to fly to Eden Prime and help out there. I always wanted to romance Ashley, she looked so hot in Mass Effect 3."

"Are you kidding me? She hates Garrus, I'm going to kill her as soon as possible," Willow frowned. "I'll try and get her on Noveria, maybe help a Rachni get her..."

"FREEZE! Hands in the air! Attempt to use your powers and we'll tranq the lot of you." I yelled from the shadows, emerging with my rifle raised. "Lieutenant Betson, read them their rights."

"You have the right to return to Earth, you have the right to do so peacefully. End of story," Lynn was on the catwalk, her sniper rifle trained on them. "Do you wish to accept these rights?"

The kid without the voice rushed toward us immediately. I slapped a transporter beacon on him, he shimmered and disappeared.

"Who the hell are you people?" One of the kids demanded. "What did you do with our friend?"

"We sent him back home," I replied evenly. "I'm Captain Steele, with the Parallel Intervention Taskforce, this is Lieutenant Lynn Betson. We're here to get you back home you don't stuff up the timeline."

"Stuff up the timeline?" the girl whined. "But we just want to help Shepard."

"We've all played the games, we know that Shepard succeeds just as well without your help," I was being as patient as possible. This would be my fourteenth retrieval since joining the agency, it was preferable that they run smoothly. "Look, everything happens how it happens. Some things you can't change. Someone always dies on Virmire, Saren can never be redeemed, Shepard will always be resurrected by Cerberus, Miranda is not a nefarious bitch that needs to be murdered..."

"She is sometimes," Lynn chimed in. "But only when idiots muck up the timeline. A quick mind wipe and some tranq darts and everyone's back to normal. Remember the Ice Case?"

"Yeah, needed a flamethrower for that one." I shuddered. "Look, I know you just want to help, but really, you'd be miserable here. You're not combat soldiers, you're incapable of looking after yourselves, and there's no way that you could acquire the skills necessary to be on Shepard's crew with just a few weeks of training. And even if you were badass special forces operatives, it wouldn't make a difference. This is the 22nd century. Everything's changed. What about your homes? Your families? Won't they be missing you?"

"Gosh..." Willow muttered. "I never thought about that."

"Don't worry, we can make everything just the way it was." I re-assured her. "This is a relatively simple case. A few superpowers and some apparent stupidity that can be easily cured."

"But what about Garrus?"

"Remember, Garrus isn't into aliens." I pointed out. "He's not even really in love with Shepard, he's just blowing off steam with her before the battle because he respects her."

A few more minutes was all it took to calm both kids down and send them back to Earth. It had been a simple enough extraction, for which I was grateful. Ever since my recruitment into the agency, things had been weird. But the job was necessary. Without our intervention, the whole Mass Effect universe would be virtually unrecognisable, with the people and events twisted grotesquely out of place.

"What else do we have today, Lieutenant?"

"Well sir, it looks like we've got three guys that wound up getting themselves used as Cerberus test subjects, and one guy who's already saved Rael'Zorah and Garrus's team, and might be trying to alter the events of Arrival."

I sighed with utter misery. I didn't hate these guys who wound up in the Mass Effect universe, but it was a constant trial to deal with them...and there just so MANY of them. Thousands upon thousands, blotting out everything else. I didn't want to think about how many more I'd have to take care of after Mass Effect 3 came out.

LBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLB

A/N: Again, just poking a bit of harmless fun at the many Self-Inserts out there. And I pray that all their authors may eventually devote their time to more worthwhile stories. Because as good as a Self-Insert can be, practically anything else would be better.


End file.
